


At Night, When Memories Come

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-26
Updated: 2002-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-20 17:34:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11340120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: The silent suffering after Mulder's abduction, recovery.





	At Night, When Memories Come

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

At Night, When Memories Come

## At Night, When Memories Come

#### by Nobby

Date: Friday, June 14, 2002 7:37 PM 

TITLE: At Night, When Memories Come  
AUTHOR: Nobby  
EMAIL ADDRESS: DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere.  
**RATING: R**  
CLASSIFICATION: Vignette, MulderAngst  
SPOILER WARNING: Nothing Important Happened Today 

KEYWORDS (CONTENT WARNING): Mulder/Krycek. Mulder/Scully. Some vague slash content. 

SUMMARY: The silent suffering after Mulder's abduction; recovery. 

Disclaimer: Most of it belongs to 1013 and FOX television, no profit made, no infringement intended. 

Author's note: Some MT while Mulder is on the run, based on some possible memories from the alien ship. Last season timeframe, no real spoilers. 

* * *

The heavy air of the south lay thick upon everything. Even the mosquitoes lay quiet under its influence, weighed down by the humidity. The buzz of the soda machine was muffled, while the air conditioner betrayed its age and state of repair by rarely kicking on despite the oppressing heat. 

In the uneasy darkness of a motel room, a man slept and dreamed. 

It was a dream of feeling, of hands and instruments moving across his body without being seen. Of things done which made him cry out in pleasure, others which made him cry out in pain. In dreamland, memories flowed together and mixed, their original meaning all but lost in the flow of consciousness. 

A warm mouth sucked at him, gently teasing him, the barely seen dark head bobbing in and out of total darkness. Bright light blinded him from above, as sharp needles pierced his face and pulled his skin. The intense pleasure/pain mixture of another man lowering himself into his ass echoed through his body, and the salty taste of another's cum filled his month. Sharp metal instruments invaded his chest, sucking his breath out of him and he suffocated, his body refusing to gasp for air. 

Half-seen in flickering light, a woman's naked body hovered above him, then below him, and his nose filled with her sharp scent. His mouth filled with a womanly flavor, then a warmth engulfed his cock. But flares of pain tore down his back, pain like that from the nails of a woman lost in passion. But the pain didn't stop as the memory of her body faded awayinstead, it grew and smoldered along his nerves until his whole body was burning. 

He awoke, tangled in his sheets, sweat pooling upon his body. Embarrassment warmed his face as he realized that like a hormone-crazy teenaged boy, he had come in his sleep, and that the hot stickiness of his cum plastered his boxers to his stomach. Yet his cock was still demanding, still throbbing from the disordered memories, and needed another release. 

With the calm darkness surrounding him, he slipped off his dirty boxers and used his own saliva to bring himself to the edge once again. But he would not allow himself to imagine, to picture either the dark-haired man or the red-headed woman who once might have saved him from himself. Memories once pleasant had become tinged with pain, and he cursed the beings - whether man or alien - who had used his memories to stimulate him to pleasure as they experimented upon him in pain. Not only had they violated his body, they had violated his mind. They had destroyed his memories by making him relive them in situations so different from their original meaning, and in doing so, had come close to destroying him. Memories, after all, are the sum of what he is ... what he was. 

It drove his desire for vengeance. He sought truth, yes, but he also sought freedom. Freedom from the pain which wracked his body when he thought about sharing himself with another; freedom from the fear which made him pleasure himself without finding true release. 

When he came this time, the remaining seed spilling over his hand and into the sheets, he held himself together. Flickers of memory crossed his mind - of a woman's face framed by a white pillow, twisted with her own pleasure; of the top of a slight man's head, as he took him completely into his throat and rode him through the spasms - and maybe the pain was a bit less this time. Maybe he was slowly advancing upon this journey back, as he slowly crawled upon another, towards an unclear goal. 

But he knew that the two were inevitably intertwined, his revenge tied to his recovery. He would never understand why they had done this - he knew that the truth did not promise that - but maybe time would blunt the edge, and truth turn his mind elsewhere. Then he, the truth, and anyone who cared to join would have a chance in this struggle. And even these memories would become part of a greater whole. 

End 

* * *

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Nobby 


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